


when everything's made to be broken

by dmdys



Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-23
Updated: 2020-04-23
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:14:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23808217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dmdys/pseuds/dmdys
Summary: When back in the sanctuary of his bedroom, Alex flicks on the lamp next to his bed. He gently pulls the tub open again, and cracks the can of soda open, being as quiet as he can. Whilst his room has always been a no-go zone for his parents, after the evening he’d had, well, he wasn’t taking the chance.Slowly, he eats his little square sandwiches, and he flips his phone open to check for messages. Maria has asked if he had a fun hookup with Museum Guy, and Liz has sent several messages about their final math quiz. Nothing else. No missed calls, and no messages from the one person he wants to hear from.Tossing the Tupperware to the floor, Alex sets his can on his bedside table and falls back against his pillows. He opens up a new message on his phone and slowly types out the words,I’m sorry.
Relationships: Michael Guerin/Alex Manes
Comments: 4
Kudos: 92





	when everything's made to be broken

**Author's Note:**

> I literally told myself I'd never write fic again, those years were behind me, but then bloody Roswell New Mexico shows up and throws all that in the bin. 
> 
> I have only seen up to 2x05 (and I don't even know if I have it in me to watch the shit show that is 2x06), and I probably took some liberty with the timeline of events, but I needed to write something angsty but sweet to wash the taste of poor writing out of my mind. (I really don't want 2x06 to ever happen again. I'd actually prefer it if it was just lost to time and space, but I digress.)
> 
> No real beta for this, as I just kinda found myself battering it out, but I _think_ I caught everything.
> 
> Title credit to the Goo Goo Dolls.

The house is silent. Everything is always so meticulously cared for that nothing creaks, drips or even settles. It’s so quiet, and Alex’s throat hurts from holding back sobs.

His eyes hurt from crying, and the throb in this head is almost blinding. He’s trying to be as quiet as he can. He doesn’t want to give anyone the satisfaction of hearing his cries. His pillow is soaked from him biting it every time a sob rocked his body, and he knows pulling his sheets over his head doesn’t muffle anything, but he still does it.

When he finally sits up in bed, the alarm clock blinks at him. 4:16. He’s been hiding in his room for hours, but he’s pretty sure his mom never called him for dinner. To be honest, the pitiful look she’d gave him when he’d ran in from the back yard, tears streaming and his father following silently, she’d have known better than to call on him. Alex loves his mom, and he knows she loves him, but she’ll always take his father’s side no matter what. Jesse Manes could say the sky was green and she’d agree. She was a pleaser. Whilst she’d accepted Alex’s sexuality, she preferred not to acknowledge it if she could, for arguments' sake.

Alex shuffles to the edge of his bed and reaches under his bed for the half empty box of tissues he knows is there, beside some issues of Men’s Health. He wipes his face, and takes some deep breaths. His parents go to bed at the same time each night, and his brothers aren’t home. He should be safe to make a quick trip to kitchen for soda and a sandwich (as much as he has no appetite, he knows he needs to have something.)

After a few more deep breaths, he walks gently to his bedroom door. He pulls it open, no fear of the hinges creaking, and makes his way along the landing, passed his parents bedroom and down the stairs. He switches the kitchen light on, and pulls the fridge open. He’s a little surprised when he sees a Tupperware box sitting on the middle shelf with a post-it on top.

> _Alex_ , with a swirling heart in his mother’s writing.

Alex smiles, cautiously, and picks up the tub. Popping the lid, the small square sandwiches seem to glow at him. It might not seem like much, but these tiny tuna sandwiches, cut small like he’s still in Kindergarten, these are his mother’s way of saying, _you did nothing wrong._

With the tub in one hand and a can of Diet Coke in the other, Alex makes his way back to his room, stopping to make sure his parents were still unconscious.

When back in the sanctuary of his bedroom, Alex flicks on the lamp next to his bed. He gently pulls the tub open again, and cracks the can of soda open, being as quiet as he can. Whilst his room has always been a no-go zone for his parents, after the evening he’d had, well, he wasn’t taking the chance.

Slowly, he eats his little square sandwiches, and he flips his phone open to check for messages. Maria has asked if he had a fun hookup with Museum Guy, and Liz has sent several messages about their final math quiz. Nothing else. No missed calls, and no messages from the one person he wants to hear from.

Tossing the Tupperware to the floor, Alex sets his can on his bedside table and falls back against his pillows. He opens up a new message on his phone and slowly types out the words, _I’m sorry._

*

“What the hell happened?!” Isobel shrieks for what feels like the millionth time.

Michael rolls his eyes before letting out a hiss as Max steadies the splint. He watches as Max gently wraps gauze around his hand.

“It was a dumb fight.” Michael literally lies through his clenched teeth.

“Just let me heal it,” Max says. His eyes are full of worry, and Michael can literally feel the concern radiating from his friend’s chest.

“No can do, Maxy,” Michael replies, and he reaches for the bottle of Jack at his feet. Taking a swig, he continues, “people saw it. They’re’d be a lotta questions if I showed up with perfect set of digits.”

“But who did it?!” Isobel screeches.

The three of them are sitting in the kitchen of the Evans’ house. Michael is so glad Max and Isobel’s parents aren’t home. They aren’t exactly Michael’s biggest fans.

“I told you, I don’t know- ow!” He yelps and yanks his arm from Max’s grasp. “You gotta be so rough?”

His hand is neatly wrapped, and he knows Max has probably done a better job than he would have. Plus, it’s not like he can just walk into the emergency room at the hospital.

“Can you describe them?” Isobel continues to press, and Michael flares at Max, who just smirks. There’s no stopping Isobel Evans when one of her boys have been hurt.

“Just drop it, Iz,” Michael snaps, getting to his feet. He takes a last swig of the whisky and sets the empty bottle on the counter. “It was a group of guys from out of town. It’s no biggie.”

“Oh, no biggie?” Isobel replies, sarcastically. She looks at Max. “It’s no biggie!” She throws her arms up in the air. "It’s no biggie that he’ll probably never play guitar again! It's no biggie his whole life could be screwed from this!"

Michael sighs, and leans against the counter, not looking at either of his friends. He can’t tell them the truth. He can’t do that to Alex. Yeah, everyone knows the youngest Manes boy is gay, and no, Michael doesn’t really care if what anyone thinks (if he’s honest, he’s been thinking he might be bi for a while), but if this evening was anything to learn from, it’s that Alex Manes does not have it easy. Hell, if Jesse Manes will literally smash a teenage boy’s hand with a hammer for standing up to him, what the fuck does he do to his own kids?

“Just drop it, please.”

The room falls silent. Michael knows Max is staring at him, and Isobel is looking at the floor, arms folded a mouth pursed. She’s no doubt debating if she can probe his mind, but he also knows she’d never do it without his consent.

Max is no doubt just worrying, because that’s what he does. It’s a miracle the kid isn’t white haired at this point. He’s probably imagining all the ways he can try and protect Michael from everyone and everything, and if it wasn’t for the pain and the alcohol, Michael would probably smile at the thought.

Finally, Max breaks the silence. “You can crash here tonight.” It’s not an offer, it’s an order. “Mom and dad are gone for the weekend. There’s no point in driving back to the group home at this time.”

Michael doesn’t say anything, but he nods. He doesn’t want to go back to the home. He never wants to go back, hence the little set up in the back of his truck.

Isobel huffs, and turns on her heels before disappearing up the stairs to her overly organised bedroom. 

“She just worries about you,” Max says, and he nods his head in the direction of the stairs. “Come on, Rocky.”

Michael looks up, eyes narrowed.

“I got painkillers and more whiskey in my room.”

Michael can’t help the smile on his lips. Max knows him too well.

*

Alex doesn’t wake until almost noon. It’s a Saturday, which means his father will be at the base doing rounds, so he allows himself to relax a little. His head hurts and his neck aches from the tension. Sitting up, he groans and rubs his eyes. When he stops, he notices a cardboard box sitting on his desk. He frowns, and shuffles himself off the bed and towards his desk.

The box doesn’t have a lid, and on first glance Alex can see it’s filled with his band posters and notebooks. Things he kept in the tool shed. His mother must have boxed it up this morning and snuck in as he slept. Alex sighs and falls back on his bed. At least his mother tried to save his things; his father would have trashed it all. Just like he’d done to-

A buzzing sound pulls Alex from his thoughts and he looks around. His cellphone must have fallen on the floor as he slept. Scrambling to grab it, he slides onto the floor with a thump. Flipping it open his heart speed up and his stomach does several gymnastic moves.

> _Buffalo rock?_

Alex swallows. This is it. He’s either going to get his heart broken (like it wasn’t already), beaten up, or...well, he couldn’t think of a third option but either way, today could only bring more pain.

> Sure. Be there in 30.

*

Michael swallows, trying to ignore the throbbing in his hand. Max’s pathetic paracetamol hadn’t helped at all, but luckily he managed to score something a little stronger from some guy outside the Pony. The pain was still there, but instead of crippling pain it was muted down to throbbing. He could live with that.

The sun is high, and Michael lies back in bed of his truck. He’s sprawled on a tatty sleeping bag, head resting on a rucksack. This wasn’t how he’d imagined the Summer to begin, but here he was, a broken hand, waiting for Alex Manes in the desert. They’d hung out here a few times, making out and attempting to coordinate two male bodies. Well, at least a Michael was; Alex seemed to know all the parts of Michael he liked. It had been at Buffalo Rock that Michael had instigated the next step in their relationship.

*

**-Four Weeks Earlier-**

Michael kisses Alex’s stomach, the slight muscles always hidden by band shirts and stripes sweaters. Today, Michael is stretching a particularly faded Fall Out Boy shirt, pushing it up to Alex’s neck so he can get his mouth on as much real estate as possible. Whilst he’s totally down with the guy-on-guy stuff, Michael is a little surprised at just how much he loves having Alex’s skin against his own. It’s like nothing he’s felt before.

“Woah there, cowboy!” Alex giggles, and Michael looks up at him, lovedrunk. He leans up and presses a kiss to Alex’s red lips. They’ve been making out for over an hour, but Michael could do this forever.

“Mmm,” Alex had hums against Michael’s lips, before pulling back. “This is a limited edition shirt, you know!”

Michael just smiles, and tugs the neck line down, running his lips and teeth along Alex’s neck. He’s been feeling the lump in Alex’s jeans against his leg for the past hour, but he’s been a little nervous (and too giddy) to do anything about it. Did he palm it? That’s what girls have done with him. Does he ask Alex if he wants him to...suck it? Would that be weird? Would it be awful? He’s never done that before. Has Alex? Has Alex done all this before? He must have, there’s no way Michael is his first.

The thought of Alex with someone else fills Michael with more anger than he thought he could contain, so without thinking he reaches down and put his hand over the bulge of Alex’s pants.

Alex has the most shocked look on his face. He leaned up on his elbows and met Michael’s eyes. The curly haired cowboy looks just as shocked, despite being the one now rubbing his hand gently over Alex’s crotch.

“Uh,” Alex had said shakily, biting his lip. “You, uh, don’t have to...uh...”

“I wanna,” Michael replies, and before he can even stop himself he starts undoing Alex’s belt, never breaking eye contact. Alex was now watching the hand that was disappearing into his pants, and as soon as Michael reaches his pubic mound, hand shaking a little as it graces the soft curly hair, Alex sits up, grabbing his arm.

“What’s wrong?” Michael asks nervously, but he doesn’t pull back.

“You don’t have to,” Alex says again, his voice shaking.

Michael bites his lip. His heart is racing, and he looks down. His hand is sort of hovering, holding up the fabric of Alex’s pants and shorts, his palm brushing against the soft, dark curls. He’s a bit terrified, if he’s honest, but he’s so turned on right now, and the sound of Alex’s hitched breathing is making him want to do so many things. He can just imagine the sounds Alex would make. He swallows hard, and says, “fuck it,” before wrapping his free hand in Alex’s hair and pulling him in to a deep kiss. Simultaneously, Michael pushes his hand down against Alex, sliding his hand further, wrapping his fingers around a hard dick that is bigger than he’d expected.

Alex gasps against his mouth, but he doesn’t stop kissing him, and starts to slowly move his hand. It’s odd, but not unpleasant. It feels a lot different to when he touches himself, but also not that different. It’s a very confusing feeling, but Michael doesn’t hate it.

Alex starts making little noises, and Micheal stops for a second.

“Shit! Should I have...?” He trails off and pulls his hand out. Alex bucks involuntarily and lets out a whine, before his face goes red.

“Sorry, I-“ Alex begins, but he stops when he sees Michael spit into his hand. “Oh.”

Michael smirks, and he notices a twitch as he pushes his hand back into Alex’s pants. He wraps his hand around his dick a little tighter this time, a little more confident. He pumps his fist gently, trying to remember what it was like the first time he’d had a handjob, but it’s hard to focus when Alex is making the most delicious sounds against his mouth.

“Oh, you like that, huh?” Michael smirks, but Alex pulls him down, greedily and messily mouthing at his lips, his neck, anything he can get his mouth on. Michael finds himself making some small moans as Alex starts to buck his hips, fucking himself into Michael’s hand.

Michael suddenly realised he’s grinding himself against Alex’s thigh in rhythm with each pump.

“Fuck,” he breathes against Alex’s mouth, who makes the smallest noise of agreement. The rhythm is crooked and not at all 4-beat, but it’s perfect, and Michael can feel a familiar burning in his stomach.

“Shit,” he mutters, really hoping that Alex will come just as easily as he does. He’s already thinking of excuses and ways to say “it normally lasts longer”, but suddenly Alex’s grip in his hair tightens and he stops kissing him, but presses his forehead against Michael’s. There’s a wet hot explosion in Michael’s hand, and almost as soon as he feels it, he explodes himself, jutting his hips against Alex’s thigh and opening his mouth as he lets out an almost silent moan.

They ride their orgasms out together, forehead to forehead. As they come down from cloud 9, both boys stare at each other, before they start to giggle.

*****

Michael’s truck is sitting by Buffulo Rock when Alex pulls up. His chest is tight, and the sound of rock radio feels like a scalpel against his brain. Taking a deep breath, Alex starts towards the truck.

Just weeks ago they’d started hooking up here. Alex had even ditched afternoon classes a few times to meet Michael here, the thought of handjobs and kisses more enticing than advanced math.

Michael is sitting on the edge of truck bed, swinging his legs. His hat is pushed back, curls poking out over his forehead. Alex notices the neat wrapping on Michael’s left hand and a new pang hits his chest. Soon enough, he’s stood by the truck and Michael raises his head. His eyes look just as red as Alex’s. They just look at one another for what feels like a century, before Alex speaks up.

“I am so sorry, I can’t even-“

It isn’t the lump in his throat, the pounding in his head, or even the shaking that’s rocking him to his very core that cuts him off. No, it’s the mouth of Michael Guerin, pushing as hard as possible against his.


End file.
